


bought a watch but I can't see the time

by regrettably



Category: Just Music Entertainment, Khiphop, Show Me the Money (Korea TV)
Genre: M/M, smtm777, whole lotta talk about puking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 03:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18188927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regrettably/pseuds/regrettably
Summary: Kid Milli tries to survive the finals.





	bought a watch but I can't see the time

**Author's Note:**

> look I'm sorry

 

 

“And the first rapper to leave us will… be revealed after the commercial break!”  Kim Jinpyo announces with a smile, and possible first rapper to leave, Kid Milli, tries so fucking hard to not throw up his entire lunch on a nation-wide live broadcast.

 

People talk a lot about what it’s like to be on Show Me the Money.  

 

About the gross long filming hours, the Mnet brand of censorship, the rigged matches, the free passes, the degrading product placements, the stress, the egomaniacs, the narcissists, the straight-up whackjobs that come on thinking they’re going to prove they’re the next Loco.

 

But nobody really talks about the fear.

 

Turns out it doesn’t matter much if Choi Wonjae dyes his hair and inks his skin and covers himself in clothes most people can’t afford until he barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore and every second guy outside some basement club in Hongdae is trying to look like him, act like him, be like him.  There’s not much difference between Kid Milli, current icon of hip-hop fashion in Korea, or a guy making beats on Soundcloud in his bedroom. Nobody’s going up to Deepflow or The Quiett without their entire life flashing in front of their eyes.

 

That kind of fear’s got to be learned about firsthand, and Wonjae learned it the second he stepped out in front of the judges, alone.

 

Even though he knew, he _knew_ it was coming, when Swings hit the button and that big _FAIL_ burned red in front of nearly everyone that matters, his insides turned to liquid and he wondered if he was going to be the first contestant in Show Me the Money history to shit his pants on camera.

 

Then there were the diss battles, where Coogie spit back every stupid thing that’d happened with Vinxen in his face, and he’d gnawed at the insides of his cheeks over and over and over again and tasted blood for the next three days.

 

The nausea came when they started preparing for solo stages.  Nothing would sit right in his stomach, not plain yogurt or tasteless rice porridge or that tea with all the roots in it that grandmas drink.  Nothing. He gave up on eating after he brought up an expensive dinner provided by Paloalto on his knees in the bathroom of a good restaurant. Then it was only energy drinks and chain smoking keeping him going, so many cigarettes that Jaewon complained his lungs hurt just from sitting near him.  He nearly passed out when they showed the results of the first solo stage, legs buckling and everything going black as he saw just how much he beat EK by. Code Kunst took him aside, off camera, and informed him politely that if he didn’t start eating again there wouldn’t be a second solo stage.

 

And his stomach still twisted every time someone called him a “strong contender for the win”, but he ate, part out of guilt and anger that he was still here when it should’ve been EK, part out of fear that he’d end up looking like an even bigger asshole than he already had.   

 

He wishes he didn’t eat today though.

 

It was just some kimbap and a couple melon slices from the food tables backstage, a last minute decision because Code Kunst was giving him a look and he figured it would make him the lamest contestant they’d ever had if he fainted on live broadcast.  Probably would’ve been better than spewing rice and spam all over the stage though, like he’s going to if--

 

“Wonjae-yah.”  Loopy whispers, eyes staring straight out at the crowd and lips barely moving.  “It’s okay to look sorta nervous, but you gotta chill a bit. Not gonna be cool if you puke on your nice clothes.”

 

Wonjae’s too queasy to talk so he dips his head, a meek nod.

 

“Remember what I told you?”  Loopy’s got a weird slow way of speaking, Wonjae’s not sure if it calms him down or stresses him more, “There’s nothing to worry about.”

 

Wonjae wants to argue that there is, that there will never be more eyes on them than there are right now, that everyone who means anything to him is watching, that his _mom_ is watching, but he knows Loopy is right.

 

Loopy’d asked him in a dressing room this morning, watching Wonjae pacing in circles and tapping his foot and repeating his lyrics again and again, what exactly he was so nervous for.

 

“Why aren’t _you_ nervous?”  Wonjae shot back, harder than he’d meant.

 

“Because I know how things are gonna turn out?”  Loopy had smiled, reclining on a hard Mnet couch.  “You know too. We’re here to look cool for the audience, not fuck up our parts, and then lose to Nafla.  And I’m okay with that. He deserves to win. I know that, you know that, we both know that. So, what is there to worry about?  Shit, Wonjae, try to enjoy it a little.”

 

Loopy’s right, but it doesn’t make Wonjae’s insides churn less.

 

He glances across the stage at Nafla, who he’ll lose to, and standing beside him is Siyoung.  Siyoung is sweating under the stage lights and laughing, mouth wide open at something Swings shouted.  It’s deafening in here with the crowd and the music and Kim Jinpyo bellowing into the mic, but Wonjae knows that laugh by heart.

 

_“Hyung…”_

 

Siyoung is laughing and-

 

“ _Hyung… hyung!”  Wonjae’s trying to get Siyoung’s attention, but Siyoung’s laughing, laughing, laughing.  Swings says it’s the worst laugh in the world but Wonjae kind of likes it. It makes him laugh too, and he’s not even sure what they’re laughing about.  Maybe it’s about some weird shit Changjoong said earlier, maybe it’s about the stack of hentai manga shoved under Wonjae’s bed, or maybe it’s just because they’re sitting shitfaced drunk on the floor in Wonjae’s place, flushed and loud and sweating in oversized clothing since it’s the middle of summer and Wonjae’s aircon is sort of fucked._

 

-and Wonjae feels like he just got punched in the gut.

 

_“Hyung!” Wonjae goes for it again, stomach tying itself up in knots as he smushes Siyoung’s cheeks between his palms and turns his head to look at him._

 

_Siyoung’s still laughing, like having his face in Wonjae’s hands is a funny thing and somehow that makes Wonjae think what he’s going to do is okay, that it might work.  “Yeah?”_

 

_“Listen, I… I- shit.  Fuck. Fucking fuck.” Wonjae tries, but a mix of acid and alcohol rises up his throat and he knows this is why he’s always going to be a shit rapper.  Rappers are supposed to be good with words, right? And now he can’t say a fucking thing because he’s afraid it won’t be just words that come out._

 

It must show.

 

“Wonjae…” Loopy murmurs, teeth gritted into a smile.

 

_Good thing he can do stuff besides talking._

 

_His hands relax from squishing to cupping, thumbs brushing Siyoung’s cheekbones, and he leans in close enough that the tips of their noses bump together._

 

_Wonjae prays that he doesn’t puke in Siyoung’s mouth._

 

Kim Jinpyo’s voice echoes in the studio.  “And now…”

 

Sweat beads under the patches covering the tattoos on Wonjae’s neck.  He wishes he could step outside, have some fresh air and a smoke.

 

_He kisses Siyoung.  It’s not a great kiss.  Wonjae squeezes his eyes shut because he’d definitely be vomiting on Siyoung’s face right now if he didn’t, but he manages a wet press of his lips to Siyoung’s.  Siyoung’s breath hitches, Wonjae feels his jaw tighten under his hands, and that’s it._

 

_He pulls back, just a bit, and Siyoung’s talking before he’s even opened his eyes._

 

_“Oh?”  Wonjae peeks, cracks one eye as wide as he dares.  Siyoung’s not laughing anymore but the smile is there.  “Thought you only liked big anime tits, Choi Wonjae.”_

 

_Wonjae’s stomach lurches.  “Not only.”_

 

“...the results of the second betting round!”

 

It’s weird to be thinking about this now.  

 

He thought he’d be thinking about almost anything else: his mom, his girl, his crew, his friends, the dipshits that said he’d never make it here, the threats from the bullies that used to keep him awake at night, every fuck up he’s had between losing his mind over Starcraft matches while doing overnight shifts at the convenience store and what it took to get here, his cat.  Anything.

 

_Wonjae’s hands are still on Siyoung’s face and Siyoung grabs his wrist, kind of gentle, shuts his eyes.  Wonjae takes it as a sign and kisses him again. This time Siyoung kisses back._

 

_They go slow, clumsy, sloppy drunk.  Trading soju-steeped kisses until Siyoung tugs on Wonjae’s bottom lip with his teeth and Wonjae’s tongue slips into his mouth.  Wonjae hopes Siyoung can’t taste the bile at the back of his throat._

 

_Siyoung swears dirty words down Wonjae’s lips.  Wonjae’s hands slide into Siyoung’s hair and he tugs himself fistfuls of black, damp and matted with sweat.  Siyoung half groans, half gasps and his glasses just about stab Wonjae’s eye out._

 

But instead it’s this.   

 

He hasn’t thought about this in years, locked it up tight in the space where he keeps the glow of the lights in the street below from the edge of the roof on his old building or the scream of the express trains roaring by in Sindorim, where there were no glass walls to separate him and the tracks.

 

“Our third place is…”

 

_“Fuck.  Sorry.” Siyoung mumbles._

 

_His face is pink, patchy at his neck, shining.  His glasses are crooked, one arm dangling behind his ear.  His lips are wet with Wonjae’s spit._

 

_Wonjae wants him so bad._

 

_He takes off Siyoung’s frames with trembling fingers.  Siyoung lets out one long shaky breath as he’s left barefaced.  To Wonjae it feels like the most important thing he’s ever done._

 

_He pulls Siyoung as close as he can get, kisses him so hard he forgets how drunk he is and sick he feels.  Siyoung’s arms wrap tight around him, fingertips digging into his shoulders. Wonjae kisses across his face, down his cheeks and his jaw, sucks on his neck, wonders when the last time he cleaned the floor was because he’d be cool with doing it right here, right on the floor, if Siyoung’s cool with it too.  He’d do whatever Siyoung wants to do, however he wants to do it, and he twists his fingers into Siyoung’s big shirt, goes to hoist it up, it’s way too hot to be wearing this kind of shit and he wants to see Siyoung, kiss Siyoung, suck from his throat down to his--_

 

_“Wonjae-yah.  Wonjae. Wonjae!”_

 

“...team Code Kunst and Paloalto’s Kid Milli!”

 

Wonjae blinks at the big screen and the numbers next to his picture.

 

“Wonjae-yah, that’s _you_.”  Loopy grins at him and Code Kunst’s got a hand on his back and Wonjae just barely manages to not hurl on his team.

 

It’s him.  It’s him. He’s third.  It’s him.

 

_“Wonjae.  Fuck. Stop.  We… we can’t.”_

 

_Wonjae jerks back.  Siyoung’s got big red blotches across his cheeks._

 

_“What?  What’s wrong?”_

 

_“Nothing, just… we can’t.”_

 

_Wonjae’s insides are moving on their own.  “Huh? Why?”_

 

_“We just can’t!  If we do this we’ll fuck up everything!”_

 

_“No, we won’t, we’ll-” It feels like his intestines grab onto his stomach and try to tear him apart from the inside out._

 

_“We’ll what?” Siyoung shakes his head.  His hands are tight on Wonjae’s shoulders.  “Wonjae, we’re building something here, and we’re gonna go right up to the top.  No, higher than that! To space, to the stars! The motherfuckin’ stars, Wonjae!”_

 

_Wonjae’s not sure why there’s a “we” in all that when Siyoung’s the one doing everything.  Wonjae’s still taking rap lessons from Swings._

 

He’s hugging everyone, thanking his producers, thanking Loopy, thanking Nafla.  Siyoung is sweaty and nervous when he bumps Wonjae’s fist, and Swings slaps him so hard on the back he almost pukes right then and there.

 

Kim Jinpyo asks him to say a few words and Wonjae fumbles an uncool response into the microphone.  He hears himself speaking but he doesn’t understand his own words.

 

“And can you say something to your producers?”

 

Wonjae gulps.  He stammers out something about how hard everything was and how thankful he is.  Paloalto and Code Kunst are nodding and then the audience is clapping and he’s told to leave the stage, and it’s over, it’s over, it’s all finally over but his stomach is still flipping.

 

People backstage are telling him things and asking him questions and fussing over his outfit and his hair and his face.  He tries to listen to them all, thank them all, but all he really wants is some water and to watch Nafla win it from the wings.  

 

“Show Me the Money Triple Seven’s winner is…”

 

_“And we can’t do that if we do this now.”  Siyoung looks right at him, into him, now his eyes are red too.  “Do you get it? It’s not worth giving up everything for... I’m not worth giving up everything for.”_

 

_Wonjae wants to say yes, yes of course he is, but all that soju is swirling around in his gut and he’s scared to open his mouth._

 

_Siyoung sighs, presses his forehead to Wonjae’s.  He can’t tell if Siyoung’s face is wet from sweat or from crying.  “Look, maybe… maybe one day, when we’ve got those motherfuckin’ stars, then maybe… but don’t wait, alright?  Get those stars first, okay… and then… fuck, Wonjae. I’m sorry. So fuckin’ sorry.”_

 

“...congratulations, Nafla!”

 

Nafla hugs Loopy and the streamers fly.  Wonjae tries to breathe through his nose.

 

Nafla looks like he’s about to cry when he’s handed the big cheque.  He gives it to Siyoung and raises his mic.

 

“During our time on the show, our team, Swings and Giri-hyung and me, we all had a really hard time,” Nafla says, “especially Giri-hyung, making so many beats for me-”

 

_Siyoung tastes salty, like tears, when he presses one last kiss on Wonjae’s lips._

 

_Wonjae gags._

 

_“Hyung, gonna throw up-”_

 

Siyoung covers his face with the big cheque and bursts into tears.

 

Wonjae throws up in his mouth.

 

He swallows a mouthful of bile back down while Nafla talks about Mkit Rain and Swings shouts about how hard they’ve worked and Siyoung, Siyoung his friend, Siyoung who he wouldn’t be here without, Siyoung who likes dogs and clothes and outer space and not much else, cries into his hands.

 

Wonjae’s found and chugged down two bottles of water and is working on a third when the winners make it off stage.  Nafla’s eyes are rimmed the same red as his hair and Swings is yelling and Siyoung’s got his hood pulled up and tears are leaking down his cheeks.  He’s still crying while he’s hugging and bowing and laughing with anyone and everyone. Wonjae’s doing his bit too. Congratulating past contestants, bending low for his producers, telling people he’s not sure that he recognizes how hard they worked all with the taste of vomit on his tongue.

 

Siyoung slips out after some unplanned and unedited speeches and the first drinks.  Wonjae trails behind him, finds him splashing water on his face in an empty bathroom.

 

Siyoung sees him coming in the mirror.

 

“Shut up.” He laughs without turning around, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Fuckin’ shut up.”

 

Wonjae grins and Siyoung hugs him so tight that he knocks all the air straight out of his lungs.

 

“Hyung, careful... gonna throw up on you if you go that hard…” Wonjae wheezes, but he hugs him back just as tight.

 

“Yeah?  You were that nervous?”

 

“Yeah.”  Wonjae nods into Siyoung’s shoulder.  “Isn’t that fuckin’ lame? I make it to the finals on Show Me the Money and I don’t even remember anything that happened, just spend the whole day trying to not puke on camera.”

 

Siyoung pulls back, sniffles.  

 

“Kinda wish you’d done me a favour and puked.  People would’ve remembered that instead of all this.”  He motions at his face, the red eyes, the wet beading on his eyelashes.  “Just… fuck. Holy fuck. Nafla… he… he fuckin’ saved us, y’know? He _saved_ us.”

 

Siyoung leans against the sink, mopping up tears with his Adidas-sponsored sleeves.

 

Wonjae’s one of the only people to have ever seen Siyoung really worried, pouring over Just Music’s finances as if he didn’t barely pass high school math.  

 

He shakes his head.  Watching Siyoung cry makes him queasy so he stares at his feet.  “Nah, Nafla didn’t save you. You saved yourself, hyung.”

 

“Y’think?”

 

“Yeah.  Nafla wouldn’t have come to you if he didn’t like what you do.  I guess, y’know, it was kind of all you.” Wonjae’s fingers itch for a smoke.  “So, what’s it like at the top?”

 

“This isn’t the top.” Siyoung blows his nose into a wad of toilet paper.  “Won’t be the top ‘til you’re standing up there, next to me.”

 

Wonjae fights the urge to dry heave.  He forces himself to look at his reflection in the mirror above the sinks.  The person that stares back at him doesn’t look much like Kid Milli right now.  He just looks sick.

 

Wonjae peels off his headband, stuck to his scalp with sweat.  It’s streaked red on the inside.

 

“Well, you might be waiting for a long time.”

 

“Don’t think so.  But if I have to, it’ll be worth it.”  Siyoung washes his hands while Wonjae tries to fix his hair.  “Did you see Nafla, at the end? His smile, when they said he’d won?  Looked like stars, Wonjae. Motherfuckin’ stars.”

 

Wonjae almost rips his bangs out.  

 

Siyoung doesn’t look at him, just wipes away the last tears with the side of his hand.

 

“Bet you’ll look like motherfuckin’ stars one day too.”

 

Siyoung still isn’t looking.  His hand is clammy when he grabs Wonjae’s though.

 

“Motherfuckin’ stars.”  Wonjae echoes. His heart thumps under his ribs and his palms are damp but for the first time in weeks his stomach is fine.  He squeezes Siyoung’s fingers like everything depends on it. Maybe everything does.

 

Then Siyoung lets go like he never held on in the first place.  He’s smiling and his face is dry as he pushes Wonjae towards the door.

 

“Come on, Kid Milli.  There are people out there who want to tell us how good we are at stuff.”  Siyoung grins, hands on Wonjae’s back. “Your hair looks fucked, by the way.”

 

Wonjae, after everything, laughs.  “It’ll be fine.”

 

“Yeah, it will.”

 

Outside the bathroom, Loopy throws his arm around Wonjae’s shoulders, welcomes him back into the crowd.  Nafla tells him about how the show saved his label, how he can’t wait to go see his mom, how he’s so thankful to Wonjae.  Wonjae thinks it should probably be the other way around. The three of them take selfies shining with sweat and teeth. No vomit and no fear though.  Siyoung’s right, Nafla’s smile does look like motherfuckin’ stars.

 

He hears Siyoung laugh from the other side of the room, head flung back and hands flying up to try to cover his mouth, but nothing can hide that grin.

 

Wonjae wonders if Siyoung knows his smile does too.

  
  


END


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